Riot

Okay, I’m totally staring. Damn. He’s real eye-candy, this guy with his muscles and long limbs, those beautiful proportions—thick thighs, narrow hips, broad chest and muscled, inked arms.

And my eyes keep returning to his crotch. Crap.

“What now?” I whisper.

“Touch,” he says and winks. He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, his hands firmly planted on the mattress, but he leans back a little bit more.

An invitation.

God, some girls I know would pay good money to run their hands over his body.

Scratch that—I am paying good money for this.

Come on, Pax. You can do this.

I lean forward, touch his flame tattoos, tracing them over his arm, up his shoulder, down his firm pec. His eyes are half-closed as I trail my fingertips over his other pec, up his other shoulder.

Warm, velvety skin stretched over hard muscle. His abs ripple when I touch them and his head falls forward. He peers at me under his hair, his eyes slits of gray.

It’s like petting a big cat—beautiful, strong, predatory. Dangerous, but too pretty to resist, especially when he shifts, lifts a hand and puts it on top of mine where it’s resting on his stomach.

“This okay?” he rumbles.

“Yes.”

He’s watching me. “You sure?”

I start to nod, then change my mind and bend over him. His lips part and I brush my mouth over them.

“I’m sure,” I say.

Chapter Eight

Riot

She kissed me.

Hot damn. I lick my lips, hunting for her taste. It was too quick, too soft, but a hint of sweetness lingers.

Damn if it doesn’t make me harder. She’s already got me worked up, just by touching my chest, my stomach, her hand stopping an inch away from my aching dick. She’s skittish and I’m careful, not moving, not breathing for fear of scaring her away.

And then she goes and kisses me, tearing down every defense and every goddamn barrier I’ve put up. How can I not kiss her back, roll over her and explore her mouth, and her body?

Fucking hell. Not fair.

I bite back a groan as I struggle to keep still, waiting to see what she’ll do next. Reminding myself I’m her toy to play with as she wishes, to use in order to overcome her fears. This is about her.

Not about you, Riot. Or you, dick. Back the fuck down.

Fuck, I’ll need some alone time with my hand after this.

She’s still bent over me, her dark hair a cascade on my overheated skin, tickling where it touches, leaving shivery trails behind.

“Pax.” My voice is strangled. Every muscle in my body is tense. Why the fuck do I have to lust after the one girl who is too scared to let me fuck her? “I’m gonna—”

“Oh crap, it’s late.” She stares at her thin golden watch like it’s about to bite her, then climbs off the bed.

“—go to the bathroom.” I blink. “What?”